


Barnstorming: Prequel I

by Telesilla



Series: Barnstorming [1]
Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Baseball, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:32:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tim offers to show Buster what a real New England winter is like, he's got more in mind than just snuggling. Takes place six months before the events of Barnstorming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barnstorming: Prequel I

**Author's Note:**

> As the tag says, this deal with Buster's morphine addiction, so if that's a trigger, you might want to skip this part.

By his watch, it's only three in the afternoon when Tim shows him to the bedroom, but Buster is exhausted. It seems like they stepped off the train years instead of hours ago. And when they had, Buster had looked around at the steady, heavy snowfall and he'd been sure Tim would give up, that they'd get a room somewhere in the little town and head back to New York the next day in defeat.

Instead, they'd been met by a taciturn old man who drove them up to the cabin in a horse-drawn sled. 

"Gonna be stuck up here for a while, Timmy," the man had said as he helped them take their luggage and some supplies into the cabin. "You should be good, though. Me 'n' the missus made sure you've got supplies for the long haul."

"Thanks, Pete." Tim had rested a hand on the man's shoulder. "Make sure Sally knows how much I appreciate it."

"I'll do that. You boys have fun."

Tim's in the main room, lighting a fire in both the fireplace and the stove, but it's freezing in the bedroom. Buster gives serious thought to burrowing under the thick stack of quilts on the bed. Maybe he can sleep until Pete comes back to pick them up. 

Whenever that is.

Back in New York, it had sounded like fun when Tim suggested spending a couple of weeks at his father's fishing cabin. "I'll show you a real New England winter, Peach," he'd said. "There's no one around for miles and miles, so we don't have to do anything but keep each other warm for a few weeks."

"Fun," Buster mutters, looking around. The bedroom is big enough to have its own fireplace and the bed is big enough for two. There's a heavy rag rug on the floor, nice bureau and a marble topped washstand. The room, he thinks, is nicer than his parents' room back in Leesburg. All in all, it just confirms what he already knew about Tim--for all his causal ways, he's from money.

Buster's ankle is killing him and he's starting to feel a little jittery. He hasn't seen anything recently, but he still opens up his bag and looks for....

Shit.

"You won't find it," Tim says as Buster starts pawing through his luggage with increasing urgency. "I got rid of it all just before we got on the train."

"That's not fucking funny," Buster snarls. "Tim, where the fuck is it?"

"I told you--I got rid of it. If you must know, I had it sent round to one of the charity hospitals. You had enough to keep them in...."

"You fucking ASSHOLE!" Buster's clothes are all over the floor now and his razor and tin of shaving soap soon follow them.

"Yes, I am," Tim says, watching as Buster turns his bag upside down and shakes it. "You can go through my stuff and all the supplies and this whole cabin and you won't find anything."

"Tim...I can't...you need to get him, Pete, back. I can't do this. I won't do this!"

"Gerald," Tim says. Buster stares at him in shock; how does Tim even know his real name? "You can do this. I know you can."

"No, you don't know what it's like. I can't." Buster's heart is pounding now and his ankle feels like it's on fire. "I _can't._ "

"I don't know exactly what it's like," Tim says. "But I talked to a doctor I trust and I know what we need to do to get you through this."

"I...." Buster glares at him. "And when this is over and we're back in New York, what if I go to a doctor and get more?"

"Then at least it will be your decision."

"Unlike this, which isn't."

Tim sighs. "There are snowshoes by the door," he finally says. "The path Pete used to bring us up here is pretty obvious. You really shouldn't leave before morning, but if you want to go then, you can."

Turning away, Buster blinks hard. Oh no, oh fuck no. Tim's forced him into this and he can't, he won't, let Tim see him cry. Only...only Buster's never been so frightened in his life. Without thinking about it, he grabs one of pillows off the bed and wraps his arms around it. "Get out."

It's full dark when the door opens. Buster's curled up on the bed, his throat aching and his whole body shaking. His ankle...no, he can't even think about his ankle right now.

He feels the bed dip a little as Tim sits down on it.

"I'm not strong enough," Buster says and fuck it, he's whining. "I know you'll hate me for it, but...."

"It's going to be the other way around; you're going to hate me," Tim says. He rests a hand on Buster's face. "Gerald, I had a choice. To lose you to the morphine or to lose you after I forced you to quit it. Looked at that way, it wasn't a hard decision."

"What's going to happen...what's it going to be like?"

"Hell," Tim says. "And I'll be with you every step of the way."

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> I alluded to Tim being with Buster when Buster kicked his habit, so here's how it happened. Or at least how it started. I'm sorry this isn't happy, fun, snowed in cabin fic. Um...ooops?
> 
> Oh and for those of you reading this who don't know anything about the Giants, Buster's real name is Gerald Dempsey Posey III. Buster's a family nickname and it's what everyone calls him. Peach is a nickname that got hung on a lot of players from Georgia back in the early days of baseball; no one calls the real world Buster that.


End file.
